Linger Here Forevermore
by vinnie2757
Summary: HetaOni oneshot. Before the end of 17.1, we see them back at their base. A short scene between America and Britain before all hell breaks loose. USUK


**Title: **Linger Here Forevermore

**Fandom: **_Hetalia: Axis Powers_

**Author: ** Me, Vinnie2757~!

**Genre:** hurt/comfort

**Pairing: **USUK

**Rating: **T

**Warnings:** Guys, it's HetaOni, what do you think?

**Summary: **HetaOni oneshot. Before the end of 17.1, we see them back at their base. A short scene between America and Britain before all hell breaks loose.

**A/N: **I found this half-finished whilst mooching through my folders after playing the English demo for HetaOni, so I thought I'd finish it and put it up here. It's not much, but I thought I'd let you know I'm still alive. I might come back and expand on it if you think that's a thing that I could do. I've got a few ideas, but if you don't want to read them, I won't bother, 'cause you know, what's the point? Enjoy, my lovelies~!

**Linger Here Forevermore**

Britain was blind, there was no escaping that fact. Arthur Kirkland, as he had signed the paper hung on the wall, could deny it all he liked, he could curse up a storm over it and throw whatever he could get his hands on, and strop in a corner for as long as he had the energy, but it didn't change the fact he'd trip over the table and his own feet before he got to that corner. If it hadn't been a life or death situation, if they hadn't just lost their only ticket to something resembling an escape route, America might have thought it funny, or at least cute.

"What are you going to do?" Prussia asked, looking up from the cloth in front of him.

The damage to Texas was only minimal, but Germany wasn't responding to anything America tried to say or do to him, so it had fallen to the former-nation to repair the damage. Thankfully, the Thing hadn't cracked the lenses or the frame, merely bent the metal and muddied the glass, which was easy enough for Gilbert Beilschmidt to rectify.

Alfred shrugged, flopped into the chair opposite him and buried his head in his arms. He'd forgone the bomber jacket, draped it over Britain's shoulders when he'd carried him back to the safe house. The English nation cursed him out for it, but it hadn't changed the fact that Britain had been unable to get there on his own two feet. Even now, his body trembled with exertion, visible from across the room.

"I don't know," he sighed. "I mean, we need to get Spain and Romano back from the past, and we need to get Italy out of wherever _he_ is. And that riddle in the basement. I don't like it. What riddle? I was in the basement, and there _isn't_ a riddle there!"

Prussia raised one white eyebrow. "Are you sure you just didn't, you know, miss it with all those heroics of yours, which, by the way, are so unawesome they nearly got us killed? No wait, I stand corrected, they _did_ get us killed. On multiple occasions."

America lunged across the table, but Canada had already caught his shoulders and dragged him back into his seat. France pinned Prussia in his own chair even as the albino laughed. Seething, America stomped to the other side of the room and threw himself onto the floor at Britain's feet.

The Englishman had taken a seat in the far corner of the room, an armchair America had thieved from one of the rooms in an earlier loop. He sat with his knees spread to support his elbows as he buried his face in his hands. It was hard to tell if he was crying, but when he looked up at the American weight pressing against his shins, his eyes were dry.

"You okay?" Alfred asked, quietly, sending a scowl across the carpet at the hovering Matthew. His brother threw his hands up in surrender and turned his attention to making contact with the outside world with Francis.

Arthur lowered his arms, hands curled slightly, as if to touch, but unable to see, it was up to Alfred to shift into those hands and make the contact. Britain's hands flinched when the taller man's shoulders first slotted into his palms, but soon relaxed, cupping the ball-and-socket joint easily. He even squeezed a little, in that poor attempt of comfort of his.

"I'll be fine," he said, but it sounded like a lie. How could he be fine?

For a long minute, they were silent, but America was the first to crack.

"Do you know if you'll get your sight back?"

There was a pause, and then Britain said, "If we can get out, I stand a better chance. I'll be a nation out there again, and we don't get afflicted with things like this." Another pause; Alfred looked up in time to see him shake his head. "But in here, where I'm human? I doubt it."

Alfred frowned a little, gnawed on a too-dry lip and imagined he could taste blood. His shoulders sagged, prompting another not-comforting comforting squeeze from Arthur, and then he shifted away and up. A look of shock, and maybe even sadness, crossed Britain's face, but it was gone after a second, leaving him with a poker face. It was his standard expression, America realised belatedly, but it had been his eyes that gave him away. The tint of the colour, the size of the pupil, the very shape themselves, that had always been what shifted a smile into a scowl, and without them, he was just a pale, bloodied, broken doll, unseeing and unmoving.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, head turning to where he supposed something must be happening.

"Nothing," Alfred assured him. "Nothing at all."

"Oh. Has Texas been repaired yet?"

When Alfred spared a glance at Prussia, the other nodded and gestured at the table, which he was in the process of leaving. He gave a vague grin and nod of thanks.

"Yeah, yeah they're fixed."

"Oh, good. Something came of it, anyway."

Another moment of silence passed, and then Alfred heaved a heavy sigh and climbed up onto the armchair next to his former big brother. Arthur, of course, squawked indignantly, but allowed Alfred to manhandle him into the correct position that they could both fit. The correct position, of course, was Alfred resting against the join between arm and back of the chair, one leg over the other arm, the other curled up under Arthur's hips, leaving the Englishman sat in his lap with his legs dangling off the edge of the armchair, no longer touching the ground. His arms holding Britain to him like a doll – like that bear of Matt's – Alfred buried his nose in the mess of once-blond hair before him and inhaled. He smelt of smoke and fire, magic, death and blood, and all the while there was tea and bad cooking on his scalp, ingrained in his very being.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, moving his head to press his words against the column of Arthur's throat.

The Englishman rested his cheek in Alfred's hair. "Because you aren't alone, Alfred, you never were. You should have talked to me about it. You shouldn't have just attempted to protect me without first telling me what would happen if you failed. You should never just take the weight of the world onto your shoulders." He sounded bitter, and even a little disappointed when he said, "I thought you knew me better."

Alfred felt something tug at his lips, but what it was, he wasn't sure. It wasn't a smile, and it wasn't a frown. His throat burnt, his eyes stung, but he refused to cry. "I just… I wanted to protect you," he whispered. "I didn't want to see you hurt, and I failed again. I keep screwing up."

"Yes," Britain agreed. "You do." He put his hands on Alfred's, laced their fingers together, and relaxed back against him more than he might have done outside of the house. "But… I don't hate you for it. I blame you, but I don't at the same time. I understand _why_, even if I don't agree with it." He laughed a little. "Isn't that always the way? I understand you, but I never agree."

America grinned against his elder's neck. "I'll keep you safe this time."

To which Britain snorted. "It's not like I'm going anywhere this time, is it? I can't see, let alone be of any use."

"America?" Canada called. When Alfred looked at him, his brother gave him a sad smile. "I'm going to go and see if Russia and China are alright. Do you want to come?"

America wavered for a second, but Britain bumped him with an elbow and let go of his hands. "Go on," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

After another second's hesitation, Alfred gave the okay to his brother and pulled himself from the chair. He went to leave, but paused and returned to Arthur's side.

"Hey, Britain?"

The island nation hummed and turned his head in the direction of Alfred's voice, and then that hum turned into a noise of surprise.

"Oh," he grinned against Alfred's lips. "Hello."

"I'll be right back," Alfred promised, giving the older man another quick, stolen kiss, and then another, and then a fourth. He lingered a little on the fifth, wanted to wrap himself in Britain's smile and low chuckle, but tore himself away with another promise to return as soon as he could.

"As I said," Britain chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere."

If he'd known, on leaving the room, that it would be a long time before he saw Britain again, he might have lingered a little longer. If he'd known he would be bleeding to death when he did, he might not have gone at all.

**++End++**

**++Vince++**


End file.
